It's not just a box
by Cero de Grenada
Summary: "I have this box." After missing his morning training session with Sif, Fandral gets to deal with one of the All-Father's more troubled petitioners. Little does he realize it's going to permanently alter his life.
1. THE BOX

"I have this box."

"Truly fascinating. But perhaps a box is not that uncommon of a thing to have and you are wasting all of our time?" Fandral asked her, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. This woman had been particularly difficult during the All-Father's daily hearings, and as punishment for missing his morning bout with Sif due to having a woman in bed, Fandral the Dashing got to deal with the problem.

"You haven't even looked inside."

"I don't need to in order to know that you are some woman desperately wanting attention."

She scoffed. "Coming from Fandral the Dashing? Pick a better insult."

He turned around. "What did you say?"

She looked around, eyes wide, awkward, as if she weren't meant to say that out loud. "Uh..." Her eyes flickered down. "See? Magic box."

"Don't blame the box."

She jostled it in her hands. "See how it dances under your gaze?"

He rubbed his hands over his face and vowed to never miss training with Sif again. Nothing was worth this thirty minutes of back and forth. "Lady Crazy, what is your name?"

"I don't really want to tell you that. Just look in the box, alright?"

"Why should I look in the box?"

"The moment you look inside you'll know exactly why you were supposed to look," she assured him.

"You could have some wretched poisonous snake in there ready to leap, for all I know."

"Ah, but you do not know. How do you come to gain knowledge, Fandral the Dashing?" she questioned.

He heaved a sigh. "Through experience, I suppose. Although many are convinced it comes through books alone."

"And many would say it comes from both." She opened the lid a sliver. "Please, humor an old woman, young man. It is all I ask, and then I will leave you. I promise."

He surveyed her through narrowed eyes for a few seconds before nodding and stepping across the room. She bowed her head and smiled, opening the lid until it hit her chest. Fandral peered inside the lid. He should have known. Empty. Knots of polished wood greeted his eyes. Smooth, freshly cut wood. Nice, but not worth the trouble. "There's nothing inside."

"Precisely."

He looked at her with tired eyes. "And why was this so urgent for me to look at?" he asked. "And please, no more roundabout questions. I'm exhausted."

"What you see in this box is the future of the one you care most about, Fandral. Do you understand what you see? She faces a coffin. She faces the grave, death." When he looked up at her, confused, she gave him a sad smile. "You don't even know who she is, do you?"

"Are you a seer?"

The woman inclined her head. "Finally you understand. Listen to me. She is in Asgard, not far from here, in the basement of a smith's shop," she told him. "She is afraid to come out of the dark because she knows Heimdall will see her, and when he sees her he will know her truth. You must not know the truth until she or someone else reveals it to you, understand? Protect her."


	2. The Abandoned Smithshop

Fandral looked the smith's shop over with a critical eye. Who had lived here before? Hidden behind grand buildings, this one looked as if the Frost Giants had been beating clubs against it just before a dragon came and attacked. Bricks crumbled away, black singes all over its face, a sad anvil out front. Abandoned, Fandral would say. But also the perfect place to hide. No one from the streets wandered back here. Why would they? The building looked as if it could collapse any second.

Swallowing, he stepped through the front doors. "Hello?" he called. "Anyone here?" No answer. Dust settled on the floor, broken only by a single trail of paw marks. He furrowed his brow. The paw marks were huge and unfamiliar to Asgard, but they stood as the only thing that suggested any life in here. Could there really be a person? Hand on his sword, he followed the trail.

Dusty trinkets lined the rafters. The sun filtering in through cracks in the roof tried to make them glint, but it looked as if nothing could bring the sparkling jewels back to life. How long had this place been alone? Asgardians were not looters, but Fandral found the fact that the jewels still remained in their metal frames surprising. Obviously whoever had owned this place didn't need them, so why hadn't anyone else taken them?

The chain mail and armor was little better. He brushed a finger over a light gray breast plate to find that the color was, in fact, a shiny obsidian. When Fandral moved towards the stairs, where the paw prints led, he found a pile of rusted weapons. Upon looking up he saw the gaping hole in the roof and realized that rainfall must have ruined these. Disappointing. More than one magnificently curved sword and fearsome battle axe turned red and brown with age rather than use. They looked well made. Like kingly gifts. They would have been the perfect weapons to carry into battle.

He peered down the steps. Half the steps remained undisturbed, while the other half had dirt caked to the wood. When was the last time it rained? Shaking his head, Fandral stepped onto the dusty part. "Hello?" he called again. There sounded no answer again, but he thought he saw something shift in the dark, like a shadow upon shadows. "I am here to help," he announced. As an after thought he added, "If you want the help." He didn't particularity feel like getting wounded or dying needlessly today, so he had to seem as non-threatening as possible. "If not, I can leave. But now's your chance... as I step down these stairs..." _Please don't attack me._

He reached the ground level and paused to take a deep breath. Absolutely no light shone down here. There was no way he was going to go traipsing through the darkness when there could be some monster waiting. Even the best warriors can be taken by surprise. "I cannot see, so I'm going to go back upstairs. If you want my help, meet me up there. If not, I suppose I'll be gone." What if there was no one even here? Then he'd feel like an idiot, talking to himself. Heimdall could probably see this all and right now chuckled to himself.

After waiting a few seconds of awkward, tense silence, Fandral turned back up the steps. He climbed the stairs faster than necessary, heart pounding at the thought of leaving his back turned to the darkness for too long. How old was he? The blonde warrior shook his head at himself once he had put a few feet between the stairs and his boots. It's easy to laugh at everything in the daylight.

How long should he wait? Scratching his neck and then brushing his fingers along his facial hair, he decided to survey the armor one last time. If truly no one lived here, then he should notify Odin or Thor about this treasure keep. They may know something more.

_Creak._ Fandral froze. _Creak._ He turned to face the stairs, hand darting to the hilt of his sword. The movement stopped.

"You're really here to help?" a voice croaked.

"Yes," Fandral replied, letting his hand drop. "I was sent to help you."

"Who sent you?"

Fandral opened his mouth and then stopped. His still didn't know Lady Crazy's name. "A seer," he responded. "She told me to come here and to protect you. If you will let me, I would like to fulfill my promise."

When the person came up the rest of the way, Fandral felt the breath rush from him. How could someone look like that in _Asgard?_

Her cheeks were hollow, eyes dark, clothes hanging off her frame like stretched rags, short hair a mess of dirt and cobwebs. Her pale skin looked gray with filth. "Who are you?" she asked. Even the way she held herself suggested a criminal rather than proud Aesir. She shivered lightly.

"Fandral the Dashing," he replied, taking a step towards her. He removed his cloak and held it up. "May I?" She inclined her head hesitantly, distrusting eyes following his every move. Fandral placed the cloak around her shoulders and drew it over her arms. She pulled it tight and shivered against the newfound warmth, eyes still distrustful but stance slightly less like an animal ready to flee. "Why are you in here?" he asked, placing his hands on her arms. She looked so pitiful - it tugged at his heart.

"You'll know when I leave," she mumbled.

He searched her face for anything more. Defeated, he motioned to the door. "You accept my help, then?"

"You promised to protect me?"

"I promised," he assured her. She smelled like wet dog. "And I do not make promises I cannot keep." When she closed her eyes and nodded he slipped an arm around her waist and guided her towards the door. Never let it be said Fandral the Dashing did not help a damsel in distress. They stepped into the sunlight. She pressed against his side, wincing in the bright light. Even he had to admit this seemed particularly bright after the dingy building, and he had only been in there a for a little while. When was the last time she had ventured outside? "This way," he encouraged her. "To the palace infirmary."

No more had they cleared the alley than a group of gold-armored guards stopped them. "We are to escort you to the dungeons," the captain announced.

"You were ordered to arrest Fandral the Dashing, part of the Warriors Three?" Fandral scoffed. The captain opened his mouth to answer but shut it again. Fandral smirked.

"Not you, Fandral. The woman in your arms," another voice answered. Fandral looked to see the All-Father and Thor approaching. Odin continued, "We have reason to be alarmed by her presence."

"What has she done besides starve and waste away in some hidden part of Asgard?" Fandral demanded. He couldn't help but wonder if there were more people just like his woman, hidden away in dark recesses no one ever sees. "The only harm she can do is expose the cruelty of Asgard's life," he said. He tightened his hold on her waist. She stopped shivering. "I found her and I intend to protect her," he stated.

"You know nothing of her!" Odin pointed out, voice rising.

Fandral lifted his chin. "Then tell me what will change my mind so quickly to your thinking."

"Do you know her name?" Odin demanded. "Have you any idea _who_ she is? No! See that blank look on your face? You have no idea what her identity is!"

"Then tell me!"

Thor watched the exchange with an expressionless stare. His fingers gripped Mjolnir and relaxed, again and again, but he made no move against anyone. The guards shifted uneasily. They had never seen Fandral and Odin argue. Ever. "Her name is Fenrir Lokidotter!" Odin snapped.

Fandral laughed. Odin blinked. "You want to arrest her for her father's crimes? If anything, we should punish Loki more for leaving her to die in the cruddy basement of some abandoned smith shop! What father allows for that?" Fandral pushed past Odin and the guards. "I'm taking your _granddaughter_ to the infirmary," he tossed back.

A smile cracked across Thor's face. He, too, pushed past his father and the guards and walked alongside his dear friend. "Fenrir," he greeted. "I know you probably care for little about family right now, but I am Thor, your uncle. Let me know if there is anything you need, ever." She simply nodded, leaning more heavily upon her finder. Fandral turned a softened gaze to her, giving her frail body a reassuring squeeze. Outside in the sun, among the other Aesir, she looked tiny and even more frail. Obviously she was weaker than she was letting on - she looked as if she wouldn't be able to walk on her own. His chest ached for this creature. He thanked whoever was listening to his thoughts once again for having the seer speak to him. "We will let nothing happen to you," Thor said.

"Nothing," Fandral agreed. "Thor, could you inform the infirmary of her arrival? I think that's the best thing to do now," he asked.

Thor nodded. "Of course. The kitchens, as well." He spun Mjolnir and shot off into the air. Fandral would have asked him to take her, too, but he didn't how rough the flight would be on her. Although the going was slow, walking seemed the best option. By the time they stepped foot on the palace ground a pack of people came and swept her away before Fandral could even react. Odin and his guards followed the pack up the steps at a relaxed pace, leaving Fandral below to stare up the marble steps.

"Huh." And that was it. She was gone. Out of his hair. He had done exactly as he had hoped - he brought her to safety. His part was done.

"Fandral!" The blonde warrior started. A hefty hand clapped him on the back. "Fandral, what are you staring at?" Volstagg the Valiant asked. Sif and Hogun came up from behind Volstagg, their own eyes looking at where Fandral's had been. "Have some business with the All-Father?"

"I hope not."


	3. Help Declined

Sif watched Fandral drink, alone, with a gaze of curiosity. "He is worried," she stated. Hogun the Grim nodded. "I don't think I've ever seen him this worried, except for Thor's exile."

"Aye, I would have to agree," Volstagg the Valiant said. "He's hardly touched his ale or fish."

Hogun and Sif exchanged glances. The _horror_! Volstagg took notice and continued to thoughtfully shove potatoes into his mouth. Their eyes stuck to Fandral, who pushed a strand of hair from his face, which would never happen if he was put together. A literal hair out of place - they all knew the signs of distress in their friend when they saw them.

"He hardly sleeps, either," Thor put in. The three jumped lightly at their friend's appearance. The God of Thunder sat down, tucking into a plate of steak and cooked fruit. "If she does not leave the infirmary soon, I will begin to worry for his health."

"She has not been released yet?" Sif asked.

Thor shook his head. "My father has ordered otherwise. She is also not allowed any visitor without Odin's direct permission."

Volstagg sighed. "So he cannot see her?"

"No. Father will not give him permission."

They watched him stare into his cup. A maiden passed by, gazing longingly at him, but he didn't notice any of the attentions focused upon him. He scratched his chin, sighed, and took another drink. "I will talk to him," Sif volunteered. The three men thanked her, relieved they wouldn't have to broach the sensitive topic. Sif disentangled herself from the bench and made to get up, but paused. "What is she like?" she asked. How could she broach the subject with essentially no information? Hogun and Volstagg turned to Thor.

The God swallowed his mouthful of food, opened his mouth to reply, and then shoved another pile of meat into his mouth. "Thor!" Sif snapped, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Mm," he grunted. He swallowed again and this time answered, "She was terrified. You could see it all over her - she didn't look at anyone. Actually, I think if Fandral had not been there she would have run."

"Can you blame her? After what Loki did to Asgard, Midgard..." Volstagg muttered.

Hogun didn't seem convinced. "She must have a larger reason," he stated.

Sif and Thor nodded, earning a confused glance from Volstagg. "I think someone's been hunting her. That's why she was hiding," Thor supported. Sif looked over at Fandral, understanding the dark curve of his brow. "I don't think anyone with any sir of pride would let another's actions define them. And if there is one thing the people of Jotunheim and Asgard have, it is pride."

"But why hunt her?" Volstagg asked.

"Lokidotter," Thor responded.

"Then who hunted her?"

"Could be anyone."

Sif nodded. She left them, continuing her mission to cheer up Fandral. Sif knew that of all people to speak about concerns and worries she should be close to last. But she also knew that Volstagg, Hogun, and Thor should be even farther behind her in line. Clearing her throat, she asked, "May I sit here?" Fandral glanced up at her and nodded. "Thank you." His dark mood had left a nice little pocket of space around his seat, so she had no problem slipping her legs over the bench. "How's the drink?"

"Mm."

Well, shit. This was awkward. "Um..." She slowly spun her mug. "Well..."

"I know - she could be dangerous," Fandral snapped quietly. "But no one in Asgard should ever be in those living conditions. Even our prisoners live better."

"It sounds like she is a prisoner."

"For crimes her father committed?" Fandral glared at her. "If you're just going to accuse her, then leave. I don't want your words."

Sif scowled. "I was going to try to help you see her, but never mind. Obviously you don't want my help." She stormed back to the others.

Thor swallowed his mouthful. "Didn't go well?"

"He can figure it out himself."

The three men looked over to Fandral, who now looked incredibly uncomfortable. Looking at Sif apologetically, but she never seeing his face, he stood and left the feast.


End file.
